


Memories are all I read

by LexaWard



Series: The Cantankerous Commotion [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Is an epilogue of sorts, John does get hurt a little but not physically, M/M, Now Edited, Shall one day be part of a series called TCC, That's Sherlock, There's smut, there's fluff, what a great combo eh?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 23:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2087100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LexaWard/pseuds/LexaWard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John have been married a majority of their lives but how will the detective and doctor cope with amnesia?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories are all I read

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so this isn’t really a well thought plot or anything. But it does have smut, so there’s that!  
> I’ve just had this as a brain nugget for a while now except I had no idea how to develop it properly so I’ve left it with a few plot holes because this is a promo fanfiction, kind of, for an actual fanfiction effort into, called The Cantankerous Commotion (TCC for short). It’s a teenlock and is based AU wise as well as being a long one. I have spent the best part of the last two years on it and it’s still not finished because I realised I had some major plot holes in it and I’m working on fixing those so by the time that does come out this’ll be really old so you’ll have forgotten and then at the end of it I can go OH THERE’S AN EPILOGUE RIGHT HERE BTW. I do have some plots for little extra ficlets I’ll be releasing post-TCC release, this’ll be the only one that I release pre-TCC. 
> 
> I will be editing this tomorrow (or some point) it's round about 1am and I don't have the brain power. 
> 
> Also if anyone's wondering, the title is actually inspired by Todd Bryanton's 'Memories'  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tOZP-Q6uYNA  
> I love the song and he's a great song writer, I'd recommend him ^^

Sherlock and John were on a case. It was near enough midnight and they were dashing down the street as Sherlock looked back to find his husband trailing behind him. Grinning he picked up speed and focused on the culprit. Matthew Remer; widower murderer. 5 wives, all normal but slightly abnormal deaths. All incredibly wealthy. Sherlock caught up with him easily and tackled the man and they tumbled about with Sherlock trying to get him into a headlock whilst the other tried to become a dead weight at the same time as struggle out of the grasp. With a unfortunately timed kick off the wall from Matthew they stumbled back as John veered around the corner in time to see Sherlock hit the edge of a dumpster and slump to the floor completely unconscious as Matthew scrambled and got away.

When Sherlock woke up again the first thing he registered was a man in his mid-thirties hugging him tightly.  
   “Get  _off_ me!” He scrambled back of the grasp as he looked around the white room; he’d always hated hospitals.  
   “I’m sorry, Sherlock, it’s okay. It’s just me, it’s John.” ‘John’ reached out his hand and Sherlock shuffled back on the bed away from it. John retracted and sat on the bed.  
   “I thought this might be a problem from the fracture.” He sighed and looked back at Sherlock with a reassuring smile.  
   “It’s okay, Sherlock. What do you think your age is?” John asked calmly, patiently. Sherlock already distrusted him.  
   “Thirteen.” John nodded and stood up going for the book of Sherlock’s records and looking through them.  
   “Be calm about this, but you’ve suffered long term memory loss.” John looked at him and bit his lip.  
   “You’re thirty-seven years old. You live at 221B Baker Street in London. You’re also ma-” The door opened and a doctor who actually worked at the hospital and looked at John with disapproval.  
   “Dr Holmes, I told you, you can only be in here as long as you don’t mess with our jobs again.” Sherlock’s eyes flickered from John to his hand to his own hand and then they widened comically as he connected the dots.  _‘ma-, Dr Holmes, not relative, rings. Married. Married to him!’_  
   “Sherlock, don’t panic. Honestly, you can trust me.” Sherlock backed up out of the bed, realised he couldn’t exactly walk as the world spun in every direction and he rushed and half crawled into the bathroom and threw up.

John looked at the other Doctor with a look that could kill and he sighed through his nose.  
   “I was trying to explain it to him in a calm manner so that wouldn’t happen but you couldn’t help but walk in and panic him could you? Get out before you’re stupidity makes it worse.” John gestured to the door and in any normal circumstance the doctor might argue but John looked like he was about to floor him so he left quietly. As much as John made Sherlock more open about his emotions the man had also built up Sherlock’s intolerance of stupid people and so was just as quick to snap when someone did something as idiotic as that.

In the bathroom Sherlock was holding himself up over the sink and looking at his late thirties face for the first time since he could remember. John knocked on the door before coming to stand to the side beside him.  
   “Different from your teenagers face, huh?” John asked and Sherlock nodded swallowing.  
   “Where’s Mycroft?” He asked and John smiled.  
   “At work, I can get him here if you like. As well as Mummy and fa- Your mum and dad.” John a corrected himself lest he scare Sherlock even more although Sherlock didn’t miss it. He didn’t miss how this man he didn’t know knew what he called his parents and then called them the same as if he done for a long time. He didn’t miss how he was now looking down on the world from a platform and he didn’t actually know how to move so much mass of limbs. His face had stretched out, but it was still his face; even if it had more lines.  
   “You’re shaking like a leaf, let me get you to bed.” John reached out but Sherlock moved away. Wary. A look of pain rushed across John’s face but it was gone as quickly as it had come.  
   “I can do it myself.” Sherlock said using the wall as a guide whilst John just moved out of the way and followed him.  
   “I think I need a familiar face. Call Mycroft.” Sherlock said without thinking about it and John pulled out his phone and summoned the man, explaining the situation.  
   “He said about twenty minutes.” John said as he put the phone back in his pocket.

John sat down in the chair as Sherlock eyed him suspiciously,  
   “If you’re my husband then you’ll know everything about me.” John looked and sat back nodding.  
   “I am and I do.” John replied confidently and looked at him in expectation.  
   “Birthday.” Sherlock said and rose an eyebrow.  
   “6th January, of course I could say any date because you deleted it when you were eight.” John cocked his head as if to say ‘bring it.’  
   “School.”  
   “Harrow, when you turn fourteen it becomes Despoina.”  
   “Parents names.”  
   “Siger and Valerie.”  
   “Pet.”  
   “Redbeard, dog.”  
   “Career.”  
   “Pirate. Although you do become a consulting detective when you turn twenty-six.” Sherlock sat forward agitated and then something clicked in his to make him smirk.  
   “Real name?” He asked and John didn’t even hesitate.  
   “William, Sherlock, Scott, Holmes. The love of my life.” John said searching for his eyes before shuffling in his chair and looking at the door.  
   “Although you can be a pain in my arse sometimes.” He said fondly smiling distantly whilst the thirteen year old mind tried not to look too confused by how much this man knew and laid down on the bed.  
   “What’s the last thing you remember?” John asked and he didn’t bother looking up.  
   “Getting the shit kicked out of me.” Sherlock answered bitterly and John made a noise of agreement.  
   “Edward and Thomas Blansom with Lionel Philips?” John asked and Sherlock rose his head with furrowed eyebrows,  
   “That’s getting creepy now.” Sherlock said his head flopping back on the bed and John chuckled.  
  “I wonder if that’s how you feel when you deduce people. Don’t worry about them when we’re in sixth form they’re on the rugby team opposite me and all three have just terrible hospitalising accidents during the game. I think Eddie came out with a broken leg, Tom had a shattered wrist and Lionel had a punctured lung. Which just happened to be the exact same injuries you received after that beating.” Sherlock didn’t even try to hide his shock this time and sat up on his elbows looking at John with an open mouth and frozen eyes.  
   “Oh god, I married a psychopath, I bet you put me here. Made me forget so I can’t tell anyone what really happened.” Sherlock dropped back to the bed and rubbed his eyes trying to remember if that actually happened whilst John just burst out giggling.  _‘Actually giggling, I thought he was thirty-seven!’_  
   “No, we were chasing a murderer and he slammed you into a dumpster. If you weren’t unconscious I’d have followed but the police got him, don’t worry. My job is to make sure you’re alive anyway. You solve the murder, I save the life.” John explained simply and Sherlock was looking at him again.  
   “Murderer?” Sherlock said ignoring everything else and John smiled at him shrugging.  
   “You’re never bored.” That was a big fucking lie on John’s behalf because whenever there wasn’t a case Sherlock became Mr Drama Queen of the Year for boredom. Sherlock perked up almost instantly and actually started to smile a little bit before the door opened and an older Mycroft came through the door.  
   “My god, you’ve gotten fatter!” Were the first words out of Sherlock’s mouth and John snorted before turning his head as tried not to laugh. Sherlock felt oddly proud at making John laugh like that.  
   “John, I believe right now requires your adult side being useful so would you please stop acting like a child for once.” John stood and cleared his throat as he stopped laughing.  
   “It doesn’t matter whether you’re teenagers or adults you still act like you’re five.” Mycroft said as if in remorse and John shrugged.  
   “I’ll talk to Sherlock alone, his mind will be clearer when he’s not in your company.” John made a face as he looked at Mycroft but didn’t say anything as he walked out of the room shutting the door behind him. Sherlock didn’t miss the way his insides ached at seeing that face.

Mycroft put his umbrella aside and sat down where John had been before analysing Sherlock.  
   “You’ll stay with me and I can keep an eye on you. Try and help you regain your memories. Maybe this time you’ll actually listen to me.” Mycroft said simply and Sherlock sat up properly.  
   “I’d rather live with the trained professional, who is equip with dealing with not only patients, but as it seems, me.” Sherlock said and was met with a wall of silence for a few moments before Mycroft sighed and looked at his watch.  
   “One hour. Well I must congratulate him, he knows how to work you.” Mycroft said standing up and picking up his umbrella.  
   “Work me?” Sherlock said incredulously as he narrowed his eyes.  
   “Yes, John always did have a way with you. Even when you don’t trust him you’d rather stay with him than me. I wonder why?” Sherlock realised his brother was trying to manipulate him again and scoffed.  
   “Because even now you’re insufferable. I’d rather be hacked up by the psychopathic doctor.” Mycroft opened his mouth to say something, thought better against it and opened the door.  
   “He’ll be discharged when you’re ready.” He said to John on the other side who walked back in and shut it before sitting down.  
   “So back home then?” He asked as Sherlock relaxed back onto the bed.  
   “I don’t even know where Baker Street is.” He grumbled and John leaned over him.  
   “Liar. You’ve had London memorised since you could read. Don’t trick question me, Mr Holmes, it won’t work.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes again before sitting up and John moving back to give him space.  
   “I’ll catch you out.” John pulled up a bag that was sat by his chair and took out some clothes.  
   “No you won’t, I made it a stint to know absolutely everything I could because you either deleted it, or knew everything about me in turn.” He put the clothes on the bed.  
   “Go and get dressed if you need help, I’m right here. No funny business. You may be my husband but you’ve got the mind of a thirteen year old and I’m not stooping that low.” He said and raised his hands up as if in surrender whilst Sherlock stood, picked up the clothes and went to the bathroom. His head held high. It was ten minutes later he walked out looking very frustrated and John saw him in his loose trousers and undone shirt.  
   “I can’t do the buttons, my hands are shaking too much.” He said and John stepped forward offering his own and Sherlock looked away.  
   “Well go on then.” He snapped whilst a blush tinted his cheeks. John’s well equip and steady hands made quick work of the buttons, although he was used to undoing them he still managed to get Sherlock completely changed and help him with his shoes and watch. Finally Sherlock put on his jacket and looked at himself in the mirror.  
   “You’ve always looked drop dead gorgeous in a suit, even when we were sixteen.” John remarked packing up Sherlock’s miniscule amount of things behind him. He didn’t see the burning red face flare up behind him whilst Sherlock quickly made good work of not dying of shame and returning to normal so they could leave.

When the got to flat John put the bag down before going straight to the kitchen,  
   “Tea?” He asked as Sherlock made a non-committal grunt and looked around the flat. He stopped when he got to the double unmade bed and then looked over to see various pictures of both of them from when they were young upwards.  
   “When did we get married? It looks like early twenties.” He asked as John came in and handed him a mug; it tasted perfect.  
   “We were eighteen actually. You didn’t want me to join the army, I didn’t want to take your money for university. You proposed and we got married a couple years later after sixth form.” John’s eyes softened as he talked about the memories whilst Sherlock got over the hurdle that  _he_ proposed.  
   “Oh, you know what?” John said putting down the mug and pulling out a box from under the bed and opening it and pulling out a stack of five black notebooks and then pulling out another.  
   “You must have hundreds of these all over the place. You write in them for experiments, cases, anything really, I can never keep up with your notes. But if you read them they might jog your memory. Mycroft and your parents must still have a few boxes. They must go all the back into your current memory actually. All in order.” John said picking up his mug again as if he hadn’t just done something completely amazing. Sherlock picked up one and John smiled before stepping out and going into the living room giving Sherlock some space. As he flipped through the pages he noticed that in the margins Sherlock would sometimes make notes about John mentioning him as ‘J’. It was all completely scientific until he got to around the middle and there was an entire chunk of book which was a violin solo entitled ‘John – By Sherlock Holmes’. Sherlock went through the piece in his head trying to think what the numbers in the margins were code for because it wasn’t anything musical. He realised he would have to do more research into this to figure it out.

Over the next few days John managed to procure all of the books Sherlock had wrote over the last years. After all this time from the age of eight onwards Sherlock had managed to write through forty seven and a half notebooks. There was even a box of spare notebooks under the bed. John went to work most mornings and didn’t come home until late afternoon or sometimes night depending on his shifts. By the next week Sherlock had managed to read from age thirteen to age eighteen and the only references to John made in the books were the little ‘J’ notes, noting John as a subject in an experiment and the developing Violin piece which at that point was already at least five minutes long which still didn’t seem finished. Sherlock realised these notebooks were the embodiment of what he wanted to be; a scientific computer.

One night he was rummaging through the cupboard past various photo albums and clothes  _‘memories’_ Sherlock thought with an edge of disdain no matter how much solid warmth filled him whenever he saw a picture of John looking the essence of ‘in love’. That was until he got to the bottom of the cupboard and in a black box were six red notebooks. Pulling it out into the semicircle of debris from the closet he had pulled everything out of. This was the point John got back and started making tea for them both.  
   “Sherlock?” He called out into the apartment checking to see if he was actually home.  
   “Bedroom.” He said looking at the covers of the red leather bound books.  
   “Why didn’t you show me these?” He turned them over to find the first was labelled ‘John Watson’, and the second had been ‘Watson’ but had a large felt line through it and then ‘Holmes’ in a normal pen above before being underlined in the felt tip and an arrow point from ‘Holmes’ to the ‘John’. He opened the cover and to some disgust found that there was a large yellow smiley face on the cover. He closed it again and looked at the other four which were all name ‘John Holmes’. He looked down at his hand and saw the gold band he’d ignored for the past week and when John finally joined Sherlock with two cups of tea he saw Sherlock slip the ring off and put it in his pocket. John put the mugs down and sat down on the bed as he felt pain shoot through him. He knew it should mean nothing…that his Sherlock might always come back but just the scene was enough to throw him.  
   “err…what do you mean?” John finally asked as his world stopped rolling around and his vision cleared. He stood up and walking over to Sherlock and crouched down next to him.  
   “There are six here all with your name on them. It seems I have been documenting more than just my experiments.” John looked at them with foreign eyes which told Sherlock all he needed to know about them.  
   “I…didn’t know…” John picked up the first book that still had his name on and opened the cover.  
   “God…this entry is the day we met…” John showed him the date: 11:33am, Saturday 7th September 2013. He flipped through the book and his eyes softened as he went.  
   “This has everything about me…when I didn’t think I could love you anymore.” John turned to Sherlock and it was evident the other wanted to kiss him from John licking his lips but when Sherlock leaned back John snapped out of it and cleared his throat.  
   “Well anyway, I’ll leave you to it since I didn’t know about them you probably didn’t want me seeing so I won’t look. Tea’s on the bedside table, I’ll be in the living room if you want me.” He said putting the book down and standing up using his hands on his knees. He walked to the table and picked up his mug before leaving the room and Sherlock alone. Sherlock looked at the indent on his hand were the ring was and furrowed his brows. Picking up the six books he sprawled them out on the bed and started reading them.

At first the books were like his black ones; analytical and straight to the point. However, over the time it got more and more uncontrollably sentimental. At 11:43pm on the Wednesday 6th September 2013 there was an entry and it had fourteen words written in: ‘That’s it. My life has changed forever. I am in love with John Watson.’ Sherlock’s eyes widened and as he kept reading there were vivid details to all of John in Sherlock’s eyes. His old ones that is.

When he finally looked up again it was well into the night and looking out into the hallway it had been at least two hours since all the lights had been out and John had gone upstairs to sleep. Going upstairs trying his best to not stand on creaky floorboards he slowly opened the door and looked at John’s curled up form on the bed. He thought about everything they had been through during the years he’d already read and closed his eyes trying to feel  _something_ for the other. All the feelings felt artificial as if he was reading someone else’s life and he just  _couldn’t._ He felt as though he had cheated this man out of a life and for the first time since Redbeard he felt guilt for something in his life. That should’ve meant something but he didn’t know what. John knew everything and yet most of his life were facts he didn’t recall and so were rendered moot to Sherlock. He watched him for a moment more and then went back downstairs before calling Mycroft.  
   “Sherlock, is everything alright?” His brother asked stoically as ever.  
   “Yes.” He answered automatically before furrowing his brows.  
   “Actually, no…I do not belong with John. He is…” He breathed out a sigh.  
   “I cannot conjure any feeling beside slight amusement toward him. I am unclear as to how to handle the situation.” There was a thick silence whilst Sherlock paced and sat down on ‘his chair’ as John called it.  
   “Perhaps it would be best if you were to take my original offer.” Mycroft offered and Sherlock almost growled his response.  
   “I am  _not_ going to run away!” He shouted then looked to the stairs to see if there was any movement.  
   “Then what do you propose?” Mycroft asked obviously irritated.  
   “I don’t know. How do I handle this situation? You know him better than I!” Sherlock said in whispered shouts whilst the bed only creaked upstairs.  
   “Sherlock the only conversations I’ve had with John over the years have been about you and most of the time he has been smart mouthed at best.” Sherlock sighed.  
   “He loves me and I don’t love him back. I may not know him but I can understand it is cruel to drag him along like this.” Unbeknownst to Sherlock John was on the staircase. He’d heard the shout and got up out of bed to see if anything was wrong by the time he’d gotten out of his sleep filled state and into his dressing gown Sherlock was proclaiming his state of love for John; or lack thereof. John stopped on the staircase and clenched his eyes shut, his entire face scrunching up as pain shot through his entire body leave goosebumps along his skin. Sherlock groaned as John continued to listen on the staircase.  
   “Perhaps I should take up your offer and come stay with you.” Sherlock resigned rubbing his face. John’s eyes shot open and he didn’t think of anything before he launched himself into the living room and throwing himself on Sherlock kissing him.  
   “Don’t leave. Don’t leave. Please don’t leave.” John begged straddling his Sherlock’s legs and clutching his face. Sherlock sat rock still as John buried himself into his neck. Mycroft sat silently at the other end of the phone before it suddenly cut off.

Sherlock threw the phone onto the sofa next to him after he’d pressed end call. John was sat in his lap kissing up and down his neck mumbling ‘please’ and ‘stay’. Sherlock for his part was just waiting it out. He had no idea how to handle someone digging into him and he definitely did not know how to address his bodies more than welcoming reaction.  
   “John…?” He asked and the other eased back looking away ashamed.  
   “I’m sorry, I heard you on the staircase and I couldn’t help worry. Then you said you were going to leave and I can’t let you go without trying.” John had his forehead against Sherlock’s with arms wrapped around Sherlock’s neck. Then, like a drowning man needing Sherlock like a lifeline, John swooped down again and kissed him. One of his hands clutched Sherlock’s curls as he was pushed him down into the seat. His other hand couldn’t resist trailing down Sherlock’s back and pushing underneath them grabbing his arse. At this point Sherlock make a shocked noise as he blushed red and John ricocheted back before standing up and sitting in his chair.  
   “Oh god, I’m so sorry.” His head was in his hands as he couldn’t look at Sherlock. The other brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.  
   “I cocked this right up.” John groaned looking resolutely at the floor.  
   “It’s okay, John. You have spent many years with my love and for it to be suddenly taken away must be hard. I am sorry as well.” Sherlock said shuffling on his seat, you didn't have to be a genius to know it wasn't heartfelt.  
   “Maybe it would be best to retire for the evening and talk about this tomorrow when you get home from work. With clearer heads.” Sherlock looked at him and John nodded at him looking grateful before standing and going up the stairs.  
   “Night.” He said tightly and disappeared quickly and his door closing gently. Sherlock finally put his feet back on the floor and relaxed into the chair. He looked down at the tent in his trousers and scrunched his eyes at his uncomfortable crotch.

Getting up and going to his room Sherlock pushed the red books to one side and lied down willing the erection to go away. Eventually Sherlock gave up to lust and unzipped his trousers letting his cock out into the cold air. He shivered and wrapped a hand around himself sighing with the relief of it. It was bigger than than he remembered and looked much more eager for any touch now than it did when he was thirteen. He didn’t understand how his body could react so violently even by the time he was thirteen Sherlock had seen his fair share of porn. Nothing had ever set him off so violently like John had. It wasn’t enough to just have the image of John in his lap. He looked down at himself with a scowl and groaned, falling back to the bed. His head lolled to the side and he looked at the disarrayed line of red notebooks beside him. Closing his eyes he picking up the first one that his free hand came upon and tried to find something that would take his mind off of it. So what luck what he have that the page he comes across is:  
‘John gave me a hand job today-’ Sherlock’s eye’s widened at the page as he found that that was the furthest from what he wanted at all. He lied there with his hands sprawled out either side of him and the book open in his palm.  
   “Oh…” He groaned pulling the book up so he could read it again:  
-in fact he’s given me a lot of my firsts in the last 24 hours. We’ve been experimenting of sorts, pretty much non-stop except when he needs food. It has been incredible. I have never known anything like him to completely erase my thoughts like he can. Not even cocaine had this effect. I’d just made him cum for the fifth time since the morning and he was already on top of me kissing me and then he slowly moved his hand down my waist – like I wouldn’t notice – and started palming me. We’d gotten rid of clothes. Useless things. I didn’t even try to hide my moans as I bucked into it. He cares so much and knows exactly when to twist his wrist  _just right_ to make me scream. I wanted him so badly and oh, was he giving it to me. I can barely control myself when he’s not touching me so when he is… _my god_. John is…well enough for me to write a pause. Simply amazing. I am in love with him and he  _loves_  me! I’m hard again just thinking about it and the best bit is I can just wake him up and have sex with him, right now.’ That was all there was to the entry as Sherlock figured he’d done exactly what he’d wrote. He breathed out through his nose at the description and blinked for a minute or so. Then looked down as it twitched when he reread ‘twist his wrist’. He closed his eyes and imagined the scene of the sixteen year olds lying in bed together. He bit his lip and let the book fall out of his hand as he covered his mouth to stop the moans being heard. He’d seen the pictures of John in his rugby uniform with his arm around Sherlock’s waist and they both looked happy. Sherlock also remember had tight John’s shirt had been, it showed off his muscles and accentuated his teenage arms perfectly. He suddenly recognised the flash of purple coming out of the neckline. He moaned, biting his hand harshly as he bucked into his hand at the image of his hand being John’s neck. He thrashed his head as he searched for more when twist came into his mind and he did just that as he pushed down. Screaming into his hand turning it into a groan he came onto his stomach.  
   “John…” He said breathing harshly. His entire mind since waking up, was slowing down and he laid there ruined on his bed looking up at the ceiling where John was currently asleep just a floor up. He relaxed his entire body and it melted into the mattress. He didn’t mean to but everything was just so blissful that he fell asleep.

When John woke up that morning he had a plan to get up and out of the flat in less than twenty minutes. He was up, dressed and cleaned in his bathroom before he pretty much crept downstairs and went into the kitchen. The first thing he noticed was Sherlock’s bedroom door being open and taking a deep breath he knew he wouldn’t be able to make tea if it woke up Sherlock. He’d had enough humiliating experiences in the past 16 hours and he didn’t really need anymore. Preferably he’d stay at the clinic all day until ridiculous o’clock in the morning and would be so tired he slept for most of the next day and then had to go back to work again in the afternoon. That was the goal of offering to do a double shift at work when he got there. For then, he crept over to Sherlock’s room and leaned in to pull the door closed but was stuck frozen upon seeing Sherlock completely out of it, with his length handing out, and cum ruining his shirt and would have probably seeped onto his chest by then. John saw the open book beside him and couldn’t resist peering onto the open pages reading what it said and blushing beet red. Swallowing he opened the bottom drawer and replaced the undrunk cold tea with baby wipes they’d kept in there for just this reason and leaned down to kiss him on the forehead.  
   “You’ll always be loved.” John whispered before pulling away and going back out into the kitchen. He was about to put the kettle on when he realised he still hadn’t actually closed the door and walked back in. He put his hand on the handle and saw his own ring. Remembering what Sherlock had done with his own it sent a bolt of hurt right through the arm like the handle had electrocuted him. He rubbed his face before going back over to Sherlock and going into the pocket he retrieved Sherlock’s ring and put it in his own.  
   “I’ll keep it until you want it back.” John couldn’t bring himself to say ‘ _if_ you want it back.’ Finally he left, closing the door after him, and going about his day.

When Sherlock alone the flat was empty but he knew someone had been in his room because he noticed the door closed. Hopefully John had not wanted to have disturbed him and quickly shut it without looking at Sherlock. That was his hope before he realised the state he was in and saw the wipes on the bedside table and started using them, only realising mid wipe, that they were a cup of cold tea last. Groaning he shed all his clothes and threw them across the room before going to get a shower. He felt like he had to prepare for John’s return that night and so whilst he came up with what to say he cleaned up all the notebooks he’d read and put the red ones on the coffee table. They had to talk and for once there was an actual reason to get dressed. He put on a purple shirt, that felt a bit tight, and a pair of black trousers. It was simple enough, he didn’t plan on going anywhere so shoes were unnecessary. By 6pm he had finished reading the last of the red notebooks where some  _vivid_ experiments in the bed were described and Sherlock had to concentrate – he skipped those parts – very hard when he came across one of them. It was undeniable that he was attracted to John, whether he was sixteen or thirty-seven; Sherlock’s body wanted John's body. It wanted him in various positions and Sherlock was even tempted to repeat some of the experiments described but he decided that he need to keep focused. Nevertheless, he couldn’t bring himself to love the other. It didn’t matter that he had six notebooks (one in progress) of sentimental memories that even the stoniest of men and women would soften their eyes at. Like the skull, or their tenth anniversary, and especially the trip to Rio, Brazil. They all made his heart beat faster and his stomach to flutter but that was a crush at best, not love. He was ready for John’s return. He knew exactly what he wanted to say.

Then John returned.

It had been the slowest day of John’s life as one he had major anxiety for the talk where he was pretty sure the love of his life was going to suggest they get divorced and break his heart and the fact this was the one day of the year everybody was in perfect health. There was about three real patients the entire day and the rest filled with hypochondriacs which were out the door in less than five minutes each. It was such a ‘good’ day Sarah even suggested John could leave home early because she knows how much he loves Sherlock and getting home to see him. He was close to bashing his head in with not only the irony of that sentence but also so he didn’t have to face the man he loved, perhaps for the last time. John sighed as he walked home all the way from the clinic not wanting to take anything with wheels that might get him home faster. He was hoping Mrs Hudson would come out and ask him for some help on something when he turned the keys on Baker’s Street locks. Silent as the grave. Not a peep from Mrs Hudson when there were times she walked in on them mid orgasm like the moans weren’t a deterrent. He walked up the stairs one at a time and opened the door to the flat steeling himself for whatever Sherlock was going to kill him with. He didn’t look at his husband as he took off his bag, shoes, and coat. When he finally did Sherlock surprised him because this wasn’t a face of a gentle, or even harsh, let down. No. It was a face John was very familiar with. Sherlock was looking at him with heat ridden lust.  
   “We should have sex.” The genius said his mouth hanging open and John blinked a few times. He looked down at the table to the six books laid out perfectly.  
   “I don’t think we should.” John said noticing a pattern of Sherlock tidying up. That was always a bad sign because he only cleaned when forced or guilty. He snapped his head back to his husband as the other stood, stepped over the table and crowded John back into wall between the door and kitchen.  
   “I had a speech. It’s gone, completely gone. You blank my mind.” Sherlock said the words ringing in John’s ears as he swallowed trying not to faint at the contact he had craved for weeks.  
   “So I’ve been told…we-…we were going to…I mean we could…we should…” John never got to finish – he didn’t actually have anywhere that sentence was going so that’s a good thing – as Sherlock grabbed the back of his head and leaned down kissing him completely breathless. When they pulled away John was having a hard time standing whilst Sherlock started nibbling at his neck.  
   “We’ve only had each other for sexual partners. Isn’t that right?” Sherlock said letting his tongue taste the neck he was bruising. John nodded.  
   “Yeah…we didn’t want to share…” John couldn’t breathe as a hand came down and cupped him.  
   “ _Sherlock!_ This…We can’t…Love…my love… _please._ ” He begged for Sherlock to do something whether it was to stop or go was anyone’s guess and Sherlock guessed go and he thrust his entire body against John. He rocked into John rolling his hips over the others and their cocks rapidly gaining hardness were creating lovely friction with each other.  
   “So good…John…let me take you…” Sherlock moaned as he pushed down whilst John bucked and whined in response. John nodded furiously his back arching as he started to let his limbs coil around Sherlock. His arms locked around the other’s neck as he pulled him into an open mouthed kiss whilst his legs coiled around the other’s waist and pushed himself closer to Sherlock. Sherlock had one hand supporting John’s arse whilst the other clutched into the back of his shirt whilst they rutted against each other. In the back of John's mind there was his conscious telling him to  _'stop'_ and  _'don't do it. He thinks he's thirteen!'_ But four other voices John wasn't aware of turned into a metaphysical being and beat that voice to death and it stopped with the words  _'ah fuck'._ John thought that was a tremendous idea and threw his head back against the wall his eyes closed whilst Sherlock worked on his neck again.  
   “Bedroom?” Sherlock panted into John’s neck and the other moaned and nodded, seeming incapable of actually talking. Two things went through both their minds at that moment. In Sherlock’s it was  _‘Bed. Carry. Now.’_ Whilst John was thinking  _‘Bed! Move! Now!’_  So what happened was John tried to get released Sherlock so they could walk and Sherlock tried to carry John. With John trying to get down and Sherlock trying to spin John around to physically sprint to _their_ room they got caught in an ongoing spiral downwards. John was fell backwards and Sherlock did the same.

Except behind Sherlock was the TV and behind John was floor with a hard knock on his back from the door.                 

There were a two yelps, two bangs, one groan, and nothing else. John became very aware very quickly that Sherlock wasn’t moving and instantly crawled over to him checking him over. He dialled for an ambulance and found himself once again at the hospital with an unconscious Sherlock because he was fast enough to catch him. It was like reliving a nightmare over and over again. He didn’t go home at all thanks to some fiddling from Mycroft whilst Sherlock was out for four days. When he man finally came too John was talking with the doctor at the door. Sherlock smiled to one side letting his hand half clench so he could feel the ring he’d always coveted. He stopped when he realised it wasn’t there, something deep inside of himself clenched horribly tight.  
   “John…?” He said weakly as the other finally noticed he was awake and at his side in seconds.  
   “Oh thank god you remember me…” John sighed with relief and Sherlock looked at him confused.  
   “Why wouldn’t I remember you? And where’s my ring?” Sherlock asked suspiciously whilst John cast a glance back at the other doctor as if to confirm what he was hearing was real.  
   “Mr Holmes, how old are you?” The woman in the white coat asked.  
   “Thirty-six, thirty-seven in three months.” He replied irritated as he looked back at John who had a sparkling hope in his eyes. He was starting to connect the dots.  
   “What’s the last thing you remember?” John asked eagerly lacing their hands together.  
   “We were chasing Matthew Remer. Are you going to explain to me what’s going on?” John let out a gasped laugh as he pulled Sherlock forward for a kiss, whilst Sherlock melted John waved the doctor away without breaking away and started pushing Sherlock back on the bed. Sherlock decided he could wait for an explanation.  
   “No sex.” They were warned by Doctor Latterson as she walked away. Both of them grunted in frustration and broke away as the door closed. John grinned and quickly pulled away as he fiddled with his wallet and took out Sherlock’s ring.  
   “Are you still my husband?” Sherlock let him put it on his hand relishing in the feel of it.  
   “Of course, I’m yours until death. Remember?” He asked and John started laughing. Well it was more hysterical giggling. After he calmed down he swallowed and cleared his throat before telling Sherlock what the last month had been like.  
   “So after all of that, you owe me a holiday.” John tried to end it lightly, tried to cover up how much it had hurt but Sherlock looked like he been slapped.  
   “I told you I didn’t love you?” He asked incredulously and John looked down.  
   “You didn’t know me…you weren’t my Sherlock.” John stroked Sherlock’s cheek with his thumb and rested his head against the others. Sherlock sensed John wanted to let it go, wanted to move on so he changed the subject.  
   “Well at least I wasn’t moronic enough to not realise how fucking sexy you are.” He grabbed John’s head and kissed him as the other moaned in agreement pushing him back down on the bed.  
   “I think…we should…have a second…sex…holiday…” Sherlock suggested between kisses and John grinned against his mouth humming with praise at the idea as he kissed him deeper. When they finally broke away breathless John still started kissing his neck, his hands running all over Sherlock’s body.  
   “Second honeymoon, sounds great. We could go anywhere as long as I get to spend a month between your legs.” John murmured into Sherlock’s ear.  
   “South of France looks lovely in autumn…” Sherlock said suddenly and John chuckled as he bit his ear lobe.  
   “Perfect. I’m going to shag you senseless in every possible way.” John moaned at the idea and Sherlock started pushing on him.  
   “If you don’t stop we will be having sex in this bed.” Sherlock inwardly slapped himself for having such a stupid sense of control whilst John’s desire cleared.  
   “You’re right. You’re right. I should probably tell Mycroft you’re awake.” John said slipping off the bed and Sherlock groaned.  
   “Ah mood killer.” John laughed as he dialled up his brother-in-law and told him the news he probably knew after a minute of Sherlock being awake. Sherlock was kept in for another couple days of testing and checking. John went back to Baker Street to move his clothes back into  _their_ room and he finally slept in  _their_ bed. He put the red books back in the original box they were found in but left that box with all the boxes of books. The box of notebooks in progress were slid back under the bed and it felt like home again.

Sherlock took none of this in as the first thing he did when the door was shut was drag John to the bedroom and push him down on the bed.  
   “Reasserting your dominance I see?” John smirked to one side as he was straddled.  
   “I need to fuck you, yes.” Sherlock said simply undoing John’s buttons.  
   “This might not go the way you want, it’s been a month.” John warned working on Sherlock’s shirt as well, both getting them off with practiced movements.  
   “As long as we have sex I’m not going to be unhappy with the result.” Sherlock said whipping off John’s belt and throwing it to the side whilst the other unbuttoned his trousers and pulled the zip down.  
   “Fantastic.” John growled and rolled Sherlock over before he yanking Sherlock’s pants and trousers down and pulled his own off with what Sherlock thought must’ve been a record. Sherlock sat up to meet John who only pushed him back down and attacked his neck.  
   “ _John!_ ” He groaned bucking his hips at the sudden action feeling John’s cock rock hard against him.  
   “Month.” John growled as he started moving down Sherlock’s body. From his throat to his naval John kissed and nipped at Sherlock who only managed to clutch the sheets beneath him and curl his toes onto the wooden floor as John got onto his knees. Sherlock suddenly realised that John couldn’t be lying about the time because he was so close already that when John took Sherlock’s head into his mouth he almost came there and then. John worked himself down to the hilt of Sherlock who at that point had turned incoherent to the world around him besides John tongue and month before  _wonderful_ things the other moaned or flexed the pink muscle. John at this point was multitasking not only was he blowing Sherlock’s mind but he was reaching into the drawer to pull out the lube that always ran out too quickly. Pulling back up the length he dragged his tongue down it and took Sherlock’s ball into his mouth his free hand tugging on the other whilst the man above keened and thrashed. John opened the cap to the lube and managed to spill it onto the same hand in a volcanic eruption move which also meant some got on the floor but he hardly cared as he pulled Sherlock forward some pushing his balls further into his mouth and hand before rubbing his hole with his wet hand. Sherlock was suddenly aware of every limb touching him and it was  _glorious._ John pulled his mouth back to the head and took the whole length down until before it hit his gag reflex. Whilst bobbing his head and sucking on Sherlock with vigour he rubbed his finger against the hole and let it push into the tight muscle coaxing Sherlock to relax. Screaming Sherlock shot up his hands digging into John’s hair as he held him place whilst he came down his throat. John knew how brash and vocal Sherlock could get and it was one of the many reasons why John adored him so much. After Sherlock slumped back down onto the bed John released his limp cock and placed a lasting kiss on his thigh.  
   “Can I have you?” John asked against the skin beneath him and watched as Sherlock’s head started nodding enthusiastically before his eyes cleared and he actually vocalised the answer.  
   “Yes. Take me. Now.” Sherlock swallowed looking at the ceiling and John pulled his finger out and rearranged Sherlock lengthways on the bed before hiking his back up on a pillow and putting his finger back where it belonged. Sherlock letting out a content purring sound John was familiar with whenever he dealt with a post-orgasmic Sherlock. As he pushed the finger in further Sherlock started to subconsciously roll his hips and John loved him like this. Completely gone to world and his entire focus solely on John and whatever body part John had on or in him.  
   “Beautiful.” John whispered and placed a second finger at Sherlock’s entrance and pushed in almost too slowly. The other pushed back more earnestly now and helped John slide himself down on the fingers inside of him.  
   “More, John, more.” The genius demanded behind glazed eyes and John settled himself above Sherlock on his free hand as he fingered the taller. Sherlock’s legs split apart wider and wrapped themselves around John’s waist. John moaned at his pliant husband and pushed in the third finger. Sherlock wasted no time impaling himself on those fingers and arching his back into the air as he moaned. John smiled to one side as he crooked his fingers at just the right point inside of Sherlock to make him shout louder and sit up again wrapping his arms around John’s neck as he forcibly fucked himself on John’s hand.  
   “Bigger. More… _John!_ ” Sherlock intentionally thrust himself on John’s neglected and very sensitive cock and John had no quarrel with giving it to him. Taking his hand out and receiving a less than pleased groan, John fiddled for the bottle and brought himself back up with Sherlock right on top of him. He lathered the substance on his own length relishing in the attention and sighing. Sherlock rested his forehead against John and let out a shuddered breath.  
   “Focus.” He whispered and John looked up at the other and smiled widely before kissing him and using the distraction to pull Sherlock’s cheeks apart and push himself in. Sherlock’s moaned filtered throughout his entire system and straight through to his cock which was tightly buried inside of Sherlock. He started moving up and down and Sherlock helped pushing down with every thrust of John’s hips. John wasn’t to last long as he clenched Sherlock’s curls into his hand whilst the other grabbed onto the man’s arse like a lifeline. He managed to push Sherlock back a bit and hit his prostate dead on making the man scream and toss his head back whilst John took advantage and pushed him back onto the bed and held onto his hips before pounding into the other. Sherlock was shouting John’s name as he overstimulated and unable to cum so quickly whilst John was moaning unfiltered choking out Sherlock’s name between panted breaths. John came inside of Sherlock with a final scream and placed both his palms either side the other as they both came back to Earth from the glorious high. John pulled out and rolled beside Sherlock both of them panting mindlessly.

   “You were right…I needed that.” Sherlock said and John start chuckling as he laced their hands together rubbing his finger along Sherlock’s ring.  
   “We both did. Me especially after the notebooks.” John murmured turning and kissing Sherlock’s temple who had frozen.  
   “Notebooks?” He said unevenly.  
   “Yes, the red ones, where it seems you have been documenting me from day one.” Sherlock’s eyes were completely wide as he turned to John.  
   “How much have you read?” He asked quickly and John pulled his head back.  
   “Well so far the first entry and a paragraph about our sex life but after that reaction I think I need to read all six.” John said sitting up and starting to shuffle off the bed towards the boxes. In a second Sherlock had hauled him back and was on top of him in seconds before he was ravishing his mouth with a breath taking kiss.  
   “No. Never. You’re not allowed to read them.” Sherlock said not even letting John continue before he went on to make John forget his first name let alone think about the notebooks.

They laid there in bed panting once more as John felt fully sated whilst cum dribbled down arse onto the sheets and Sherlock wrapped his arms around him.  
   “I think we should sleep.” Sherlock said kissing John again. John just smiled.  
   “I’m going to have to try and read those books more often if  _that’s_ the reaction I get.” John chuckled into Sherlock’s neck as he returned the hold his husband gave him and let his eyes fall shut. Sherlock looked down at the other completely asleep beside of him and then to the boxes of notebooks. He looked at the clock,  _‘Mental Note: 00:42am, 6/11/2034. I shall always love John Holmes. Whether I remember him or not. if for any reason I forget in the future I am not allowed to leave him.'_ He shuffled down into the sheets and closed his eyes sighing with content and finally falling asleep in his husband’s arms.                 

The End.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh as an extra thought, I mention Rio and tenth anniversary. I have no plot lines for these brain nuggets but they shall be done. That is a decree that I am decreeing, to myself. It has been decreed. So take that future me, you've told people you're doing it and you shall do it.


End file.
